CHAPTER IX
FLIGHT
The sun sank in a blaze of glory. Looking back by the light of
its last rays I saw a single native silhouetted against the red
sky. He was standing on a mound that we had passed a mile or
more behind us, doubtless waiting for his companions whom he had
outrun. So they had not given up the chase. What was to be
done? Once it was completely dark we could not go on. We should
lose our way; the horses would get into ant-bear holes and break
their legs. Perhaps we might become bogged in some hollow,
therefore we must wait till the moon rose, which would not be for
a couple of hours.
Meanwhile those accursed Basutos would be following us even in
the dark. This would hamper them, no doubt, but they would keep
the path, with which they were probably familiar, beneath their
feet, and what is more, the ground being soft with recent rain,
they could feel the wheel spoor with their fingers. I looked
about me. Just here another track started off in a nor'-westerly
direction from that which we were following. Perhaps it ran to
Lydenburg; I do not know. To our left, not more than a hundred
yards or so away, the higher veld came to an end and sloped in an
easterly direction down to bush-land below.
Should I take the westerly road which ran over a great plain?
No, for then we might be seen for miles and cut off. Moreover,
even if we escaped the natives, was it desirable should plunge
into civilization just now and tell all our story, as in that
case we must do. Rodd's death was quite justified, but it had
happened on Transvaal territory and would require a deal of
explanation. Fortunately there was no witness of it, except
ourselves. Yes, there was though--the driver Footsack, if he had
got away, which, being mounted, would seem probable, a man who,
for my part, I would not trust for a moment. It would be an ugly
thing to see Anscombe in the dock charged with murder and
possibly myself, with Footsack giving evidence against us before
a Boer jury who might be hard on Englishmen. Also there was the
body with a bullet in it.
Suddenly there came into my mind a recollection of the very vivid
dream of Zikali which had visited me, and I reflected that in
Zululand there would be little need to trouble about the death of
Rodd. But Zululand was a long way off, and if we were to avoid
the Transvaal, there was only one way of going there, namely
through Swaziland. Well, among the Swazis we should be quite
safe from the Basutos, since the two peoples were at fierce
enmity. Moreover I knew the Swazi chiefs and king very well,
having traded there, and could explain that I came to collect
debts owing to me.
There was another difficulty. I had heard that the trouble
between the English Government and Cetewayo, the Zulu king, was
coming to a head, and that the High Commissioner, Sir Bartle
Frere, talked of presenting him with an ultimatum. It would be
awkward if this arrived while we were in the country, though even
so, being on such friendly terms with the Zulus of all classes, I
did not think that I, or any with me, would run great risks.
All these thoughts rushed through my brain while I considered
what to do. At the moment it was useless to ask the opinion of
the others who were but children in native matters. I and I
alone must take the responsibility and act, praying that I might
do so aright. Another moment and I had made up my mind.
Signing to Anscombe to follow me, I rode about a hundred yards or
more down the nor'-westerly path. Then I turned sharply along a
rather stony ridge of ground, the cart following me all the time,
and came back across our own track, our my object being of course
to puzzle any Kaffirs who might spoor us. Now we were on the
edge of the gentle slope that led down to the bush-veld. Over
this I rode towards a deserted cattle kraal built of stones, in
the rich soil of which grew sundry trees; doubtless one of those
which had been abandoned when Mosilikatze swept all this country
on his way north about the year 1838. The way to it was easy,
since the surrounding stones had been collected to build the
kraal generations before. As we passed over the edge of the
slope in the gathering gloom, Heda cried--
"Look!" and pointed in the direction whence we came. Far away a
sheet of flame shot upwards.
"The house is burning," she exclaimed.
"Yes," I said, "it can be nothing else;" adding to myself, "a
good job too, for now there will be no postmortem on old
Marnham."
Who fired the place I never learnt. It may have been the
Basutos, or Marnham's body-servant, or Footsack, or a spark from
the kitchen fire. At any rate it blazed merrily enough
notwithstanding the marble walls, as a wood-lined and thatched
building of course would do. On the whole I suspected the boy,
who may very well have feared lest he should be accused of having
had a hand in his master's death. At least it was gone, and
watching the distant flames I bethought me that with it went all
Heda's past. Twenty-four hours before her father was alive, the
bondservant of Rodd and a criminal. Now he was ashes and Rodd
was dead, while she and the man she loved were free, with all the
world before them. I wished that I could have added that they
were safe. Afterwards she told me that much the same ideas
passed through her own mind.
Dismounting I led the horses into the old kraal through the gap
in the wall which once had been the gateway. It was a large
kraal that probably in bygone days had held the cattle of some
forgotten head chief whose town would have stood on the brow of
the rise; so large that notwithstanding the trees I have
mentioned, there was plenty of room for the cart and horses in
its centre. Moreover, on such soil the grass grew so richly that
after we had slipped their bits, the horses were able to fill
themselves without being unharnessed. Also a little stream from
a spring on the brow ran within a few yards whence, with the help
of Kaatje, a strong woman, I watered them with the bucket which
hung underneath the cart. Next we drank ourselves and ate some
food in the darkness that was now complete. Then leaving Kaatje
to stand at the head of the horses in case they should attempt
any sudden movement, I climbed into the cart, and we discussed
things in low whispers.
It was a curious debate in that intense gloom which, close as our
faces were together, prevented us from seeing anything of each
other, except once when a sudden flare of summer lightning
revealed them, white and unnatural as those of ghosts. On our
present dangers I did not dwell, putting them aside lightly,
though I knew they were not light. But of the alternative as to
whether we should try to escape to Lydenburg and civilization, or
to Zululand and savagery, I felt it to be my duty to speak.
"To put it plainly," said Anscombe in his slow way when I had
finished, "you mean that in the Transvaal I might be tried as a
murderer and perhaps convicted, whereas if we vanish into
Zululand the probability is that this would not happen."
"I mean," I whispered back, "that we might both be tried and, if
Footsack should chance to appear and give evidence, find
ourselves in an awkward position. Also there is another
witness--Kaatje, and for the matter of that, Heda herself. Of
course her evidence would be in our favour, but to make it
understood by a jury she would have to explain a great deal of
which she might prefer not to speak. Further, at the best, the
whole business would get into the English papers, which you and
your relatives might think disagreeable, especially in view of
the fact that, as I understand, you and Heda intend to marry."
"Still I think that I would rather face it out," he said in his
outspoken way, "even if it should mean that I could never return
to England. After all, of what have I to be afraid? I shot this
scoundrel because I was obliged to do so."
"Yes, but it is of this that you may have to convince a jury who
might possibly find a motive in Rodd's past, and your present,
relationship to the same lady. But what has she to say?"
"I have to say," whispered Heda, "that for myself I care nothing,
but that I could never bear to see all these stories about my
poor father raked up. Also there is Maurice to be considered.
It would be terrible if they put him in prison--or worse. Let us
go to Zululand, Mr. Quatermain, and afterwards get out of Africa.
Don't you agree, Maurice?"
"What does Mr. Quatermain think himself?" he answered. "He is
the oldest and by far the wisest of us and I will be guided by
him."
Now I considered and said--
"There is such a thing as flying from present troubles to others
that may be worse, the 'ills we know not of.' Zululand is
disturbed. If war broke out there we might all be killed. On
the other hand we might not, and it ought to be possible for you
to work up to Delagoa Bay and there get some ship home, that is
if you wish to keep clear of British law. I cannot do so, as I
must stay in Africa. Nor can I take the responsibility of
settling what you are to do, since if things went wrong, it would
be on my head. However, if you decide for the Transvaal or Natal
and we escape, I must tell you that I shall go to the first
magistrate we find and make a full deposition of all that has
happened. It is not possible for me to live with the charge of
having been concerned in the shooting of a white man hanging over
me that might be brought up at any time, perhaps when no one was
left in the country to give evidence on my behalf, for then, even
if I were acquitted my name would always be tarnished. In
Zululand, on the other hand, there are no magistrates before whom
I could depose, and if this business should come out, I can
always say that we went there to escape from the Basutos. Now I
am going to get down to see if the horses are all right. Do you
two talk the thing over and make up your minds. Whatever you
agree on, I shall accept and do my best to carry through." Then,
without waiting for an answer, I slipped from the cart.
Having examined the horses, who were cropping all the grass
within reach of them, I crept to the wall of the kraal so as to
be quite out of earshot. The night was now pitch dark, dark as
it only knows how to be in Africa. More, a thunderstorm was
coming up of which that flash of sheet lightning had been a
presage. The air was electric. From the vast bush-clad valley
beneath us came a wild, moaning sound caused, I suppose, by wind
among the trees, though here I felt none; far away a sudden spear
of lightning stabbed the sky. The brooding trouble of nature
spread to my own heart. I was afraid, and not of our present
dangers, though these were real enough, so real that in a few
hours we might all be dead.
To dangers I was accustomed; for years they had been my daily
food by day and by night, and, as I think I have said elsewhere,
I am a fatalist, one who knows full well that when God wants me
He will take me; that is if He can want such a poor, erring
creature. Nothing that I did or left undone could postpone or
hasten His summons for a moment, though of course I knew it to be
my duty to fight against death and to avoid it for as long as I
might, because that I should do so was a portion of His plan.
For we are all part of a great pattern, and the continuance or
cessation of our lives re-acts upon other lives, and therefore
life is a trust.
No, it was of greater things that I felt afraid, things terrible
and imminent which I could not grasp and much less understand. I
understand them now, but who would have guessed that on the issue
of that whispered colloquy in the cart behind me, depended the
fate of a people and many thousands of lives? As I was to learn
in days to come, if Anscombe and Heda had determined upon heading
for the Transvaal, there would, as I believe, have been no Zulu
war, which in its turn meant that there would have been no Boer
Rebellion and that the mysterious course of history would have
been changed.
I shook myself together and returned to the cart.
"Well," I whispered, but there was no answer. A moment later
there came another flash of lightning.
"There," said Heda, "how many do you make it?
"Ninety-eight," he answered.
"I counted ninety-nine," she said, "but anyway it was within the
hundred. Mr. Quatermain, we will go to Zululand, if you please,
if you will show us the way there."
"Right," I answered, "but might I ask what that has to do with
your both counting a hundred?"
"Only this," she said, "we could not make up our minds. Maurice
was for the Transvaal, I was for Zululand. So you see we agreed
that if another flash came before we counted a hundred, we would
go to Zululand, and if it didn't, to Pretoria. A very good way
of settling, wasn't it?"
"Excellent!" I replied, "quite excellent for those who could
think of such a thing."
As a matter of fact I don't know which of them thought of it
because I never inquired. But I did remember afterwards how
Anscombe had tossed with a lucky penny when it was a question
whether we should or should not run for the wagon during our
difficulty by the Oliphant's River; also when I asked him the
reason for this strange proceeding he answered that Providence
might inhabit a penny as well as anything else, and that he
wished to give it--I mean Providence--a chance. How much more
then, he may have argued, could it inhabit a flash of lightning
which has always been considered a divine manifestation from the
time of the Roman Jove, and no doubt far before him.
Forty or fifty generations ago, which is not long, our ancestors
set great store by the behaviour of lightning and thunder, and
doubtless the instinct is still in our blood, in the same way
that all our existing superstitions about the moon come down to
us from the time when our forefathers worshipped her. They did
this for tens of hundreds or thousands of years, and can we
expect a few coatings of the veneer that we politely call
civilization, which after all is only one of our conventions that
vanish in any human stress such as war, to kill out the human
impulse it seems to hide? I do not know, though I have my own
opinion, and probably these young people never reasoned the
matter out. They just acted on an intuition as ancient as that
which had attracted them to each other, namely a desire to
consult the ruling fates by omens or symbols. Or perhaps
Anscombe thought that as his experience with the penny had proved
so successful, he would give Providence another "chance." If so
it took it and no mistake. Confound it! I don't know what he
thought; I only dwell on the matter because of the great results
which followed this consultation of the Sybilline books of
heaven.
As it happened my speculations, if I really indulged in any at
that time, were suddenly extinguished by the bursting of the
storm. It was of the usual character, short but very violent.
Of a sudden the sky became alive with lightnings and the
atmosphere with the roar of winds. One flash struck a tree quite
near the kraal, and I saw that tree seem to melt in its fiery
embrace, while about where it had been, rose a column of dust
from the ground beneath. The horses were so frightened that
luckily they stood quite quiet, as I have often known animals to
do in such circumstances. Then came the rain, a torrential rain
as I, who was out in it holding the horses, became painfully
aware. It thinned after a while, however, as the storm rolled
away.
Suddenly in a silence between the tremendous echoes of the
passing thunder I thought that I heard voices somewhere on the
brow of the slope, and as the horses were now quite calm, I crept
through the trees to that part of the enclosure which I judged to
be nearest to them.
Voices they were sure enough, and of the Basutos who were
pursuing us. What was more, they were coming down the slope.
The top of the old wall reached almost to my chin. Taking off my
hat I thrust my head forward between two loose stones, that I
might hear the better.
The men were talking together in Sisutu. One, whom I took to be
their captain, said to the others--
"That white-headed old jackal, Macumazahn, has given us the slip
again. He doubled on his tracks and drove the horses down the
hillside to the lower path in the valley. I could feel where the
wheels went over the edge."
"It is so, Father," answered another voice, "but we shall catch
him and the others at the bottom if we get there before the moon
rises, since they cannot have moved far in this rain and
darkness. Let me go first and guide you who know every tree and
stone upon this slope where I used to herd cattle when I was a
child."
"Do so," said the captain. "I can see nothing now the lightning
has gone, and were it not that I have sworn to dip my spear in
the blood of Macumazahn who has fooled us again, I would give up
the hunt."
"I think it would be better to give it up in any case," said a
third voice, "since it is known throughout the land that no luck
has ever come to those who tried to trap the Watcher-by-Night.
Oh! he is a leopard who springs and is gone again. How many are
the throats in which his fangs have met. Leave him alone, I say,
lest our fate should be that of the white doctor in the
Yellow-wood Swamp, he who set us on this hunt. We have his wagon
and his cattle; let us be satisfied."
"I will leave him alone when he sleeps for the last time, and not
before," answered the captain, "he who shot my brother in the
drift the other day. What would Sekukuni say if we let him
escape to bring the Swazis on us? Moreover, we want that white
maiden for a hostage in case the English should attack us again.
Come, you who know the road, and lead us."
There was some disturbance as this man passed to the front. Then
I heard the line move forward. Presently they were going by the
wall within a foot or two of me. Indeed by ill-luck just as we
were opposite to each other the captain stumbled and fell against
the wall.
"There is an old cattle kraal here," he said. "What if those
white rats have hidden in it?"
I trembled as I heard the words. If a horse should neigh or make
any noise that could be heard above the hiss of the rain! I did
not dare to move for fear lest I should betray myself. There I
stood so close to the Kaffirs that I could smell them and hear
the rain pattering on their bodies. Only very stealthily I drew
my hunting knife with my right hand. At that moment the
lightning, which I thought had quite gone by, flashed again for
the last time, revealing the fat face of the Basuto captain
within a foot of my own, for he was turned towards the wall on
which one of his hands rested. Moreover, the blue and ghastly
light revealed mine to him thrust forward between the two stones,
my eyes glaring at him.
"The head of a dead man is set upon the wall!" he cried in
terror. "It is the ghost of--"
He got no further, for as the last word passed his lips I drove
the knife at him with all my strength deep into his throat. He
fell back into the arms of his followers, and next instant I
heard the sound of many feet rushing in terror down the hill.
What became of him I do not know, but if he still lives, probably
he agrees with his tribesman that Macumazahn--Watcher-by-Night,
or his ghost "is a leopard who springs and kills and is gone
again"; also, that those who try to trap him meet with no luck.
I say, or his ghost--because I am sure he thought that I was a
spirit of the dead; doubtless I must have looked like one with my
white, rain-drowned face appearing there between the stones and
made ghastly and livid by the lightning.
Well, they had gone, the whole band of them, not less than thirty
or forty men, so I went also, back to the cart where I found the
others very comfortable indeed beneath the rainproof tilt.
Saying nothing of what had happened, of which they were as
innocent as babes, I took a stiff tot of brandy, for I was
chilled through by the wet, and while waiting for the moon to
rise, busied myself with getting the bits back into the horses'
mouths--an awkward job in the dark. At length it appeared in a
clear sky, for the storm had quite departed and the rain ceased.
As soon as there was light enough I took the near leader by the
bridle and led the cart to the brow of the hill, which was not
easy under the conditions, making Kaatje follow with my horse.
Then, as there were no signs of any Basutos, we started on again,
I riding about a hundred yards ahead, keeping a sharp look-out
for a possible ambush. Fortunately, however, the veld was bare
and open, consisting of long waves of ground. One start I did
get, thinking that I saw men's heads just on the crest of a wave,
which turned out to be only a herd of springbuck feeding among
the tussocks of grass. I was very glad to see them, since their
presence assured me that no human being had recently passed that
way.
All night long we trekked, following the Kaffir path for as could
see it, and after that going by my compass. I knew whereabouts
the drift of the Crocodile River should be, as I had crossed it
twice before in my life, and kept my eyes open for a certain tall
koppie which stood within half a mile it on the Swazi side of the
river. Ultimately to my joy I caught sight of this hill faintly
outlined against the sky and headed for it. Half a mile further
on I struck a wagon-track made by Boers trekking into Swazi-Land
to trade or shoot. Then I knew that the drift was straight ahead
of us, and called to Anscombe to flog up the weary horses.
We reached the river just before the dawn. To my horror it was
very full, so full that the drift looked dangerous, for it had
been swollen by the thunder-rain of the previous night. Indeed
some wandering Swazis on the further bank shouted to us that we
should be drowned if we tried to cross.
"Which means that the only thing to do is to stay until the water
runs down," I said to Anscombe, for the two women, tired out,
were asleep.
"I suppose so," he answered, "unless those Basutos--"
I looked back up the long slope down which we had come and saw no
one. Then I raised myself in my stirrups and looked along
another track that joined the road just here, leading from the
bush-veld, as ours led from the high-veld. The sun was rising
now, dispersing the mist that hung about the trees after the wet.
Searching among these with my eyes, presently I perceived the
light gleaming upon what I knew must be the points of spears
projecting above the level of the ground vapour.
"Those devils are after us by the lower road," I said to
Anscombe, adding, "I heard them pass the old cattle kraal last
night. They followed our spoor over the edge of the hill, but in
the dark lost it among the stones."
He whistled and asked what was to be done.
"That is for you to decide," I answered. "For my part I'd rather
risk the river than the Basutos," and I looked at the slumbering
Heda.
"Can we bolt back the way we came, Allan?"
"The horses are very spent and we might meet more Basutos," and
again I looked at Heda.
"A hard choice, Allan. It is wonderful how women complicate
everything in life, because they are life, I suppose." He
thought a moment and went on, "Let's try the river. If we fail,
it will be soon over, and it is better to drown than be speared."
"Or be kept alive by savages who hate us," I exclaimed, with my
eyes still fixed upon Heda.
Then I got to business. There were hide riems on the bridles of
the leaders. I undid these and knotted their loose ends firmly
together. To them I made fast the riem of my own mare, slipping
a loop I tied in it, over my right hand and saying--
"Now I will go first, leading the horses. Do you drive after me
for all you are worth, even if they are swept off their feet. I
can trust my beast to swim straight, and being a mare, I hope
that the horses will follow her as they have done all night.
Wake up Heda and Kaatje."
He nodded, and looking very pale, said--
"Heda my dear, I am sorry to disturb you, but we have to get over
a river with a rough bottom, so you and Kaatje must hang on and
sit tight. Don't be frightened, you are as safe as a church."
"God forgive him for that lie," thought I to myself as, having
tightened the girths, I mounted my mare. Then gripping the riem
I kicked the beast to a canter, Anscombe flogging up the team as
we swung down the bank to the edge of the foaming torrent, on the
further side of which the Swazis shouted and gesticulated to us
to go back.
We were in it now, for, as I had hoped, the horses followed the
mare without hesitation. For the first twenty yards or so all
went well, I heading up the stream. Then suddenly I felt that
the mare was swimming.
"Flog the horses and don't let them turn," I shouted to Anscombe.
Ten more yards and I glanced over my shoulder. The team was
swimming also, and behind them the cart rocked and bobbed like a
boat swinging in a heavy sea. There came a strain on the riem;
the leaders were trying to turn! I pulled hard and encouraged
them with my voice, while Anscombe, who drove splendidly, kept
their heads as straight as he could. Mercifully they came round
again and struck out for the further shore, the water-logged cart
floating after them. Would it turn over? That was the question
in my mind. Five seconds; ten seconds and it was still upright.
Oh! it was going. No, a fierce back eddy caught it and set it
straight again. My mare touched bottom and there was hope. It
struggled forward, being swept down the stream all the time. Now
the horses in the cart also found their footing and we were
saved.
No, the wet had caused the knot of one of the riems to slip
beneath the strain, or perhaps it broke--I don't know. Feeling
the pull slacken the leaders whipped round on to the wheelers.
There they all stood in a heap, their heads and part of their
necks above water, while the cart floated behind them on its
side. Kaatje screamed and Anscombe flogged. I leapt from my
mare and struggled to the leaders, the water up to my chin.
Grasping their bits I managed to keep them from turning further.
But I could do no more and death came very near to us. Had it
not been for some of those brave Swazis on the bank it would have
found us, every one. But they plunged in, eight of them, holding
each other's hands, and half-swimming, half-wading, reached us.
They got the horses by the head and straightened them out, while
Anscombe plied his whip. A dash forward and the wheels were on
the bottom again.
Three minutes later we were safe on the further bank, which my
mare had already reached, where I lay gasping on my face,
ejaculating prayers of thankfulness and spitting out muddy water.
